The dull sound of silence

Original poem

Silent, shuddering,
I'm here, in the shade.
Deeper in the silence,
more lost than my shadow
who now knows, better than me,
the road of dreams.

                      But, to more depth of silence,
                           the calm does not accuse any noise.
                                Only one name is heard,
                                     as a hollow echo,
                                          mine...

Who calls me?

And it was me, in a low voice who was murmuring
and the echo repeated like a breath,
to see if I was

With my soul deafened, I refine my ear
and, this time, it resonates strongly
in my bed, looking at me
Like a bird from the window.

I review the book of my life
and only shadows fly,
ghosts holled from the past,
ululating, remembering
that you can always do more.

My heart clenched in its rhythm at the thought,
there was no calm, only cold numb,
static and excited, indecisive.
The cautious mind made up the moment:

It's the wind, nothing more!

But, it's worse than the wind
and she does not know,
he does not understand what the soul flies,
that darkness that is drowning in the water,
that, if it dries with the air, expands
and they will be like ghosts in the room.

The Nothing is afraid of him
to that sound of the heart,
she gets scared with her arrhythmia.

What a deep sadness
it catches us when we listen
the dull sound of silence,
its taciturn sound
that is a desperate crying
that is not almost pronounced
but the echo scandalizes
to be face to face with life.